


Last Chances

by Mychelle_Wilmot



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Basically Hannibal's thoughts during Dolce, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Episode: s03e06 Dolce, Internal Monologue, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8137174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mychelle_Wilmot/pseuds/Mychelle_Wilmot
Summary: As long as Will was alive, Hannibal would feel connected to him. And this connection would slowly poison Hannibal from the inside out, it would slowly stain everything he was if he didn’t put a stop on it. This would never have happened if he had killed and eaten Will when he had his chance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place during Dolce (3x06). Unbeta’d.

* * *

            The resplendent morning light falling upon Florence was slowly invading the house in each passing minute, casting a golden luster in every surface, every corner of every room. Even Bedelia’s skin seemed to have a soft glow, even the blood dripping from his open wounds.

            The past months of residence in Florence were marked by a steady weather with the rare rain. Looking at the morning sky now, Hannibal knew that it would be a dry day; there wouldn’t be a single drop of rain falling down today. The sun would shine bright, and the night would be lit by infinite stars without a single cloud in sight. For all the accounts, today would be a perfect day.

            It was fitting that Hannibal’s last day on Florence would be this way.

            While Hannibal knew that his actions and decisions would shorten his presence on Florence, it did not stop him from acting in a reckless manner. Still, he was truly sorry to leave the city behind. Florence was beautiful in ways that most cities could never be, with every street, every corner holding history and meaning, both historical and personal. Florence was an eternal reminder of his youth, it was the city that helped to mould the very foundations of his mind palace.

            Florence would soon be lost to him for a long time, maybe forever.

            And Florence would not be his only loss of the day. Staring at Bedelia now, noticing her firm posture and listening the determination on her voice, Hannibal couldn’t help but admire her. She was no longer the frightened creature that she had temporarily turned into when she ran away with him. Bedelia was once again the confident and strong woman he once knew; more than that, she was improved now. Her internal doubts and dilemmas were broken and shattered beyond repair, and she had remade them with steel.

            Hannibal could admire that, the sheer strength and resolve coming from Bedelia, even as she ruined his plans. As he looked at her, ready to walk away whole and unmarked, he could reluctantly agree with this parting of ways. This would not be the last time they would see each other. He would eventually take a piece of her even if it was years from now, and they both knew it. Hannibal was a patient man; he could wait for the opportunity to savour Bedelia as she deserved to be savoured.

            It was unnerving to be obliged to make a move so soon when he was not in full control of the events, when he did not have full control of even his own thoughts, but he had no one but himself to blame. He was purposely sloppy and careless, and the consequences were catching up with him sooner than he would have liked - half of the Italian police were on his heels, joined by a wrathful Jack Crawford and most likely by Mason Verger’s lackeys as well. They would make an escape a more difficult effort than Hannibal predicted, if he was able to escape at all.

            However, Hannibal was not worried about them.

            They could come one by one or they could come all at once for all that Hannibal cared. He would take care of them one by one or he wouldn’t. What he was not going to do was spare a thought about them and waste the precious, short time he still had, not when he had much more pressing matters on his mind.

            Like Will.

            Hannibal could feel that Will was in town, that he had finally followed. Hannibal’s blood coated clues, like Hansel and Gretel following white pebble stones to find the path that lead to their home. Will was finally here, close enough for Hannibal to see, to smell, to hear his voice, like he had so eagerly pictured for months.

            What Will intended to do Hannibal could not and would not predict, but it was of no importance; Hannibal would come to him either way. He had his own loose plans to act on, after all, and it would be awfully rude to not show up after all the trouble Will went through to find him.

            Walking out of his house for most likely the last time, Hannibal left Bedelia with a promise and with a kiss, ready to leave behind this chapter of his life. 

*

            In his youth, Hannibal spent much of his free time in the Uffizi Gallery.

            Not on holidays or weekends, when the place was crowded with loud and obnoxious tourists; no, Hannibal liked to spend his free hours of a weekday on the gallery.

            The entire place was fascinating to him, a stunning concentration of the most beautiful paintings Hannibal had ever seen. Among all of them, of course, the _Primavera_ was his favourite. It would always be his favourite, the one he had recreated time and time again, on paper and on flesh.

            Hannibal could not leave Florence without seeing the Primavera one last time. The painting was so pivotal for him in his youth, fundamental to the formation of what he had become. All these months spent in Florence were, in a certain way, a failed attempt to revive his glorious days as a young man, and while the attempt left Hannibal with nothing but a bitter taste in his mouth, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the city without saying goodbye to this place.

            And it was when he was immersed in one last pencil recreation of the painting that he smelled him.

            Hannibal did not turn around, not allowing himself to see just yet- he left all his other senses take note of Will’s presence first. The soft sound of his footsteps, the sound of his breath, his sweet, unmistakable scent mixed with the scent of dried blood; only when Will was by his side he permitted himself to look, and to stare.

            In the catacombs he had seen glimpses of Will, had heard his voice and smelled him, but this was different. It was Will in front of him without barriers, Will in all his glory and finally ready to face him, with a soft smile and fresh wounds to match Hannibal’s own, as if they were puzzle pieces waiting to be put together.

            In some ways, Hannibal supposed they were.

            It was not an exaggeration when Hannibal told Will that he would remember this moment forever. He might not know what would happen in half an hour or when he would die, but he knew he would never forget Will’s face in this moment, the words coming from his mouth, the pleasure that Hannibal felt of being on his presence once again after so long.

            Will was so beautiful next to him, more breathtaking than Hannibal's memories could recall. He seemed genuinely pleased to see him, and Hannibal wasn’t able to crush the wave of happiness that struck him at seeing that Will’s smiles were reaching his eyes.

            Hannibal wished in that moment not that he could reverse time, but that he could suspend it. He did not want a broken teacup to come back together; he wanted it to remain floating forever. This way, he and Will could be forever trapped in this perfect and unique moment, away from everything else, including all the mistakes and the history between them.

            But control of the passing of time still was not among Hannibal’s abilities, and this perfect bubble surrounding them was fated to end. He could see it in Will’s face, the resignation beneath his serene expression, and he could hear it in his words.

_I'm curious whether either of us can survive separation._

            So was Hannibal. It was not an idle question, not really, not when Will had invaded so much of Hannibal’s mind, not when he could find Will within the most beloved places inside his mind palace; Hannibal feared that all of its rooms were infected with Will’s presence, that Hannibal would have no place to turn away from him, not even inside his own head.

            This simple could not go on.

            Hannibal would not allow it to go on. He was no fool and he knew this was his last chance to free himself of Will’s influence, his last chance of reaching liberty and still keep a part of Will within himself, forever.

            It pleased Hannibal to see that Will understood that too, that he too was trying to get a permanent separation from Hannibal’s influence. It meant that he would understand; that in his last coherent thoughts Will would know that Hannibal was not trying to be cruel or trying to humiliate him. Will would understand what he too was just trying to do gain separation.

            In the unlikely scenery of Will beating him in his own game, Hannibal would understand as well. He would forgive Will.

            When they both raised from their seats, Hannibal gave Will one last appreciative look - the period of respite had ended, and they were ready to resume the game.

*

            Will was trembling in his arms, head pressed into his shoulder in quiet agony, and despite knowing better than that, Hannibal held him and ran his fingers through his hair, silently soothing him. 

            Hannibal wasn’t counting with Chiyoh’s help when he had made his plans, but her presence brought him an unexpected trump that Hannibal would not hesitate to use in his advantage, not when he still had so many unstable pieces to move.

            As he sedated Will, Hannibal thought about his options. Considering what he would do to Will, to treat his bullet wound and to give him a bath would be nothing but a waste of an already insufficient time. In a few hours he would consume Will in the most definitive of ways - his suffering would not be for long. It was only a logical reasoning, and it would be the most practical thing to do.

            It did not stop Hannibal from scooping Will up into his arms and from carrying him to the bathroom.

            Carrying Will as a groom would carry his bride in the wedding night, Hannibal could not chastise himself for his lack of practicality. It would be only a small delay, and Will deserved the attention. Will was not an unworthy pig and Hannibal would not humiliate him or bring him unnecessary suffering. Will was a beloved thing, and Hannibal would treat him as such. He wanted Will beautiful and ethereal in his last moments, not bleeding from wounds Hannibal didn’t do with his own hands.

            Hannibal carefully drew a bath and bared Will to his eyes. It wasn’t the first time Hannibal saw him nude and it wasn’t the first time he saw him bleeding, but he could not help but stare.

            Will’s pale skin was beautiful, even if marred with scars and blood as it was now. With the wetness of the water clinging to his body, he looked fragile and delicate, even if he was anything but it. Will was one of the strongest people Hannibal had met in his life; his shy, unapproachable mask was nothing but a sophisticated disguise to the steel that lived underneath his core.

            As he stitched him up and washed him, Hannibal kept his touches clinical and professional, but he let his eyes wander over Will’s body. The exposure of so much naked skin made Hannibal ache for things that never were and would never be.

            Will and him had been lovers in everything but the carnal sense, and Hannibal couldn’t help but wonder how it would have been like, to add this specific layer of passion in their relationship. Would it have made things better or worse? Would it have made Will more willing to confess his betrayal before it was too late or more determined to put a knife on Hannibal’s chest?

            Sighing softly, Hannibal censured himself this time for his foolish daydreams. There was little space on his heart for regret and thoughts of what if.

            Hannibal dried Will off and dressed him in the clothes he had brought alongside his own in his suitcase, just in case. It fitted Will just fine, just like he knew it would. In another life, this would have been a part of Will’s wardrobe, and Hannibal was very keen about details, and had a personal distaste for ill fitting clothes.

            Now that Will’s bullet wound was clean and patched up and he was dressed, Hannibal once again took Will in his arms and started to carry him downstairs.

            It was time, now. After all his considerations in the past months, he was finally going to act. No more stalling, no more delays. This time would be no second chances, no other options.

            As Hannibal shifted Will in his arms to get a better hold on him, Will pressed his face to his chest in a childlike gesture, unconsciously seeking comfort from someone that had so often hurt him, in so many ways. And despite his resolutions, Hannibal held him tighter and buried his face into Will’s curls, inhaling his scent and trying to not think that this would be the last time he would be able to find this smell, saving from the sensorial memories of his mind.

            If this was a day of concessions, Hannibal didn’t see why he couldn’t made just a few more.

*

            Will Graham would be the finest meal that Hannibal would ever have the honour of tasting.

            Part of him always thought that it would end this way, Will’s life finished by his hand, his flesh available for Hannibal's appetite. A bigger part of him hoped that it would never have to come to this.

            The later part was the part of himself that dared to dream that he could have a family with Will and Abigail, the part who rejoiced when he found an equal in Will. It was the part of him who cared enough to dress Will, to patch him up, to hold and comfort him only for a while longer. It was the weakest part of Hannibal, the part he thought had died when he was no more than a child and tasted his sister’s remains.

            It was the part of himself that Hannibal needed to kill in order to recover his freedom. It was the part that he needed to kill in order to obtain separation from Will.

            This idea had been on his mind since he left Will behind in his kitchen, on Baltimore. Among the many feelings that overwhelmed him when he thought for too long about that night, there was regret for not having ended this agony once and for all.

            As long as Will was alive, Hannibal would feel connected to him. And this connection would slowly poison Hannibal from the inside out, it would slowly stain everything he was if he didn’t put a stop on it.

            It wouldn’t have happened if he had killed and eaten Will when he had his chance.        

            It was with regret that Hannibal remembered that he could have acted when he smelled Freddie Lounds on Will and discovered his betrayal. It was with even more regret and some consternation that he remembered that he could have killed Will when he gave him a second chance to tell the truth, and Will kept lying to his face; he should have done something then. He could have killed Will and he could have had the most important meal of his life, if only he hadn’t let himself be stopped by absurd, desperate hope.

            Since then, the thought of killing and eating Will would pass for his mind from time to time, even if he didn’t think he would have a chance so soon.

            Hannibal was surprised when Bedelia was so on point and guessed Hannibal’s intentions, but in retrospect he knew he should not have been. Bedelia knew him well and was well aware of his culinary passion.

            In fact, it was no secret that culinary was one of the most important elements of his life. Hannibal had tasted all kinds of culinary delights. He dabbled in the culinary of several countries, he dined with respected chefs, and he always took pride in being an excellent chef himself and a gourmet as well.

            But he knew that not the biggest of the delicacies made by the most awarded chef of the world would ever compare to the taste of Will’s flesh.

            Hannibal could admit to himself, at least in the most intimate spaces of his mind, that he was acting in a desperate impulse. Will had already taken so much of him; Hannibal made more sacrifices than he ever thought he would be capable of doing for him, he had risked and lost so much due to his feelings for Will. Hannibal could see that he was deep into a path of self destruction, and he was never one to succumb to the destructive forces of emotions, not even his own - not without a fight.

            And this was his last battle, the definitive one.

            Will started to wake, still slow and confused under the effect of the sedative, a fragile look on his face. It was unlikely that he would recover his full senses before the end.

            There was something alluring about Will like this. Hannibal was fascinated with every aspect of Will, with his quick thinking, his competence, his assertiveness, but there was something very compelling about his vulnerability, something that suited Will well. It reminded Hannibal of the first months of their acquaintance, when Will smelled of sweet fever and so quickly became dependent on him.

            Hannibal put the small box that contained his head saw near the sink, while he finished the soup. Since he started to think about eating Will, he thought about what he would take from him. He thought several times about eating his heart, about opening Will’s chest and taking it into his hands to feel the final beats, but he resolved to eat his brain in the end. After all it was Will’s brain that held all the essence of what made Will Graham being what he is, the key to his uniqueness; if Hannibal was going to eat Will to keep him forever within him, he had to consume his brain.   

            With this decided, Hannibal’s next step was to decide how he would eat it. At first he thought about using it on some of his favourite recipes, but he quickly dismissed this idea. He did not want anything to steal the protagonism of the meat. Hannibal settled into simply frying it with butter, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought he would eat Will raw. Will was no ordinary meat and Hannibal did not need to do anything to elevate him. To put spices and other ingredients he would risk spoiling the flavour that was pure Will, and this was not a risk that Hannibal was willing to take.

            Once he had resolved the details, he only needed to wait and to execute his plans. It would not be long before Jack arrived, and Hannibal intended to use his time wisely.

            After all, it was his last opportunity to be alone with Will.

            Even drugged as he was, Will had the power of being more engaging than most people are in their sharpest moments. Hannibal would miss him so dearly. Never again he would find someone with such a beautiful mind, with his wit, with his rich imagination. Will was the most special person in a world stuffed with mediocre people, and Hannibal suspected that he would miss him every day to the rest of his life.

            It was really a shame that this was the only way. It was a matter of survival now; coexistence was proving to be insufferable to both of them. Hannibal had to try.

            When it was clear that Will no longer would eat the soup, Hannibal raised himself from his chair to put his plate away, forcing himself to step away from Will; Jack would soon be here.

*

            It was disappointingly easy to subdue Jack. After he had beaten Hannibal so greatly in their last fight, Hannibal truly expected more from him, but he had Jack sedated and bound in no time, tame as sheep and with the same power of resistance as them.

            Hannibal had given a much weaker dose to Jack than he had given Will, and so Jack was conscious again in a much shorter time, which was what Hannibal hoped for. He wanted to talk with Jack before everything ended - he was curious to see his reaction.

            Once Jack understood his intentions, Hannibal saw tears forming in his eyes and his voice trembled when he begged Hannibal to not do this. The strong reaction surprised Hannibal somewhat. The last time he saw Jack have such a strong emotional reaction was when they were still friends, and he found out about Bella’s disease. Hannibal would find it almost touching in Will’s behalf, if he had any emotions to spare for anything else in that moment.

            Which he didn’t.

            When he started to cut into Will’s head, time seemed to slow down - the electrical noise of the head saw, Jack’s screams, the way the blood was gushing down Will’s head. The smell of his blood was already in everywhere, invading every olfactory sense that existed on Hannibal; he could barely imagine how overwhelming it would be once he reached the brain matter inside Will’s skull.

            Ignoring the alluring smell and all the exterior noises, Hannibal kept his concentration in opening up Will’s head. The hour had come, and Hannibal was ending the strong bond that existed between him and Will, and this time it would be cut forever.

*

            When the police invaded the house and pointed his guns at him, Hannibal knew then he was defeated. Not because he might be arrested, not because he might be killed or placed into Mason Verger’s vindictive hands; he was defeated because he had lost his last chance to sever his connection with Will.

            As he kneeled in the ground, Hannibal could already feel everything that was in motion. The situation had changed drastically in a matter of seconds, making him aware that his only certainty was the unknown.

            Hannibal did not think he could bring himself to do it again, not after having failed. Eating Will could be an entertaining thought, but the action itself had to be an impulse made in the nick of time, when Hannibal could let his more bestial instincts act. Will was not common meat that Hannibal could storage, and he wasn’t even precious meat that he could marinate for years. If he attempted to marinate Will for long like he did with Bedelia, Hannibal would once again find himself infatuated enough to forget reason, infatuated enough to forget betrayal and all the reasons he should want Will's death.        

            No, Will was no worthless pig. He was a beautiful, wild creature that Hannibal had to consume right after the slaughter, when his flesh would still be fresh and warm, and Hannibal didn’t think he could have such a perfect opportunity like he had today, never again.

            Hannibal listened to the conversation with half an ear, quickly understanding that he was not going to prison so soon. No, he would be making a long trip to the Muskrat Farm, maybe with Will in town alongside him.

            When one of the men approached him and hit him in the head, Hannibal had only a last moment to think that maybe having his plans destroyed was the best outcome he could hope for, and then the darkness of unconsciousness enveloped him and for long hours, he thought no more.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the first non fluffy fic I wrote about these two, so... yay?
> 
> This fic came out of nowhere. I was minding my own business, writing a Star Trek fic when the idea came to me and wouldn't leave me alone. Not that I mind, because Dolce is my favorite Hannibal episode.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Kudos and comments are always welcome.


End file.
